


Just Like You Said It Would Be

by Thistlerose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months after their breakup, Percy and Oliver bump into each other (literally) at the Ministry cafe.  (Written in 2005.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like You Said It Would Be

Percy is pouring himself a cup of tea in the Ministry's café when someone's elbow jostles his.

"Sorry."

The voice is gruff, low, and familiar. Percy doesn't look up. "It's all right." He takes a few packets of sugar and a lemon wedge for his tea, then turns and starts to look for a table.

"So that's it?"

Oliver does not raise his voice, but Percy flushes. He continues to the nearest empty table, sets his tea down carefully, and slumps into a chair. To his dismay, Oliver pulls back the chair opposite his, and sits. Aware that Oliver is watching, Percy neatly rips open both sugar packets and empties their contents into his tea. He drops in the lemon wedge, picks up his spoon, and stirs.

"You could've said hello," says Oliver.

"You could have as well. I didn't know you were there until you bumped into me."

"I said I was sorry."

"I said it was all right."

The steam from the tea is causing Percy's glasses to fog up. Irritably, he lifts his head and finds himself gazing into Oliver's stony countenance. "What?"

Oliver takes one of the empty sugar packets and twists it between his fingers. "Nothing. Just hoping for some civility is all."

"This isn't civil?"

"It's pretty pathetic."

Percy considers. He hasn't seen Oliver since they left Hogwarts last June and doesn't know what he's been doing besides playing Quidditch for Puddlemere - _if_ he's been doing anything besides playing Quidditch for Puddlemere. He's seen Oliver's name in the _Prophet_ now and then over the past year, but it hasn't been in connection with anything interesting. Anything Percy would consider interesting, at least.

"What brings you to London?" Percy finally asks. His gaze rests on Oliver's fingers, which are still mangling the sugar packet. They're callused in a few new places, he notices.

"Got an interview here with someone from the _Prophet_ ," says Oliver. "You?"

"I work here, remember?"

"For Fudge. Right. I remember."

"My parents aren't happy. I don't care." Immediately Percy knows that he's erred, but he can't call the words back. Oliver's fingers tense.

"So," Oliver says slowly. "This is new. When did you finally stop caring what they thought?"

Percy hesitates. He told Penelope and she didn't understand. He tried to explain it to Fudge once, and he didn't understand.

"You'd think they'd be proud," says Oliver. "Working for Fudge and all. That's impressive."

Percy glances over his shoulder to make sure no one with whom he works is in earshot. Then he says under his breath, "A little too impressive, they think. Father reckons I only got the promotion because Fudge needs someone to keep an eye on my family. Since they sided with Dumbledore." He tries to keep his tone casual, but the bitterness seeps in.

"Ah."

The one syllable comes out like a sigh and tells Percy nothing.

"So," says Oliver. "You've always done what you thought would make them proud. Now you're doing really well and they're not happy."

"I don't want to talk about it," Percy says abruptly. He's decided that he doesn't want Oliver to understand. He hasn't seen Oliver in over a year, hasn't written to him in nearly as long. They don't owe each other any confidences.

"We won't, then." Oliver's hands slide toward Percy's. Percy yanks his hands back, rattling his teacup.

"Don't."

"I wasn't doing anything."

"You were—"

"And if I had, what would you have done? Look at me, Weasley."

Percy looks at the clock. His lunch break is nearly over. A droplet of sweat slides between his shoulder blades and down his back, though it isn't that warm in the café.

"Fine. Don't look at me."

"Nothing's going to change," Percy says.

"Why shouldn't it?" demands Oliver. "We're not in school anymore. We've got flats of our own. We can do whatever we damn well please. You obviously don't care about what your parents think anymore. You're not still with Clearwater, are you?"

With reluctance Percy says, "I am, actually. She finished at Hogwarts this spring. We're thinking of getting a flat. Together."

"She doesn't know about us." It's a statement, not a question.

Percy glances fervently about, but no one is paying them any attention. Oliver's clothes are nondescript, his features as ordinary as ever. He's really not the sort of person who stands out in a crowd even though he's relatively famous – to Quidditch enthusiasts, anyway. Percy had never found Oliver's looks particularly compelling. Penny is much better looking. But Oliver has those strong, weathered hands, with those long, bony fingers. He has those blunted nails that used to rake Percy's skin.

Percy swallows, remembering.

"She doesn't know," Oliver concludes. "And you're not going to tell her. You're going to take a flat with her, and probably marry her, and have half a dozen ginger-haired sprogs with her, and she's never going to know."

"I love Penelope." It's true. They've been living separately for a year, but she has always been on his side.

 _I just loved you a little bit more is all._

It's too hot in the café, and there are only a few minutes left before Percy has to be back in his office. He pushes back his chair and starts to rise, half-expecting Oliver to make another grab for his hand. He isn't sure if he's disappointed or not when Oliver doesn't move.

"I need to get back," he mumbles, gathering his tea, which by now is lukewarm.

"I know."

"It wouldn't have worked."

"I reckon not." Oliver's tone is entirely too casual. Unable to stop himself, Percy steals a glance.

Oliver is watching him, his eyebrows slightly arched, his mouth set in a frank, steady line.

Percy feels himself floundering. "I care too much about my career. I told you."

"You did," Oliver acknowledges. "I wish I hadn't bumped into you. Not that it isn't good to see you. I'd just rather this not be the last thing we say to each other."

He will never be sure why, but Percy begins to say, "You never kn—"

"Yeah, I do," Oliver interrupts. "Now I do."

09/15/05


End file.
